


The Weeping Willow tree

by AmosLee1023



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1800s, Evil, Fire, Hatred, Hell, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Character Death, Protective Siblings, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Siblings, Tormented, burnt, farm life, graves, haunted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-08-08 11:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16428524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmosLee1023/pseuds/AmosLee1023
Summary: 1: A tormented man trying to burn a haunting tree.2: The graves of those once loved are burnt black.[Excerpts from a work in progress, Willow Farm, while I work on uploading it.]





	1. Chapter 1

Frank swung the axe down over the logs repeatedly, the wood splitting in half with aesthetic cracklings that still couldn't ease his tormented soul.

  
Douglas was dead. The chickens weren't laying. The cow wasn't milking. Frank had seen his daddy touching Charlotte- he knew what was going on there. Thomas hadn't come back- nine years and he hadn't come back. Daddy was starving them and ain't nothing he could do about it. Eric and Charlotte needed to eat. They needed to eat and Frank couldn't feed them.

  
The chicken weren't laying, the cow wasn't milking, the crops were withering, the well wasn't clean, the barn still rank of Allan's body, the graves were black, Daddy was beating them- the only thing unharmed was that damn Willow tree. When Daddy killed Douglas, it just stood there. Stood there shading the cracked ground, but Frank knew better.

  
Frank split another wood and his axe got stuck in the trunk underneath it. He let go of the handle and panted heavily to himself, sweat dripping down his face and neck. He wanted to look up at the sky and see God, but he didn't want to look up and see the devil in his place. He turned his head to the side and looked at the tall Willow tree.

  
It stood, unabused. Happy. Prided. Smug.

It killed this land. It killed Momma, and Anne, and his Douglas- Douglas woulda protected them. Douglas was the older twin. This damn tree, it just stands there wanting what it wants- it wants death, and mysery, and destruction-

  
Frank would give it what it wanted. He'd give it death. Death, and death, and more death- he'd kill off the evil of the farm and revel in it. He'd purge it.

  
Daddy wasn't a bad man. He wouldn't touch Charlotte like that. He wouldn't beat Douglas to death. He wasn't a monster. This tree was. And once Frank purged the evil of it, they'd all be alright again.

  
Frank pulled the matches from his overalls and walked over to the tall, shading Willow tree. He struck a match and threw it at the draping leaves, the stick catching and burning, the flame finding grip to climb up over the leaves. Frank struck and threw another. And another. And another.

  
He wanted it to burn.

  
"You'll rot in Hell," the damaged man said, watching the leaves catch fire. "You're gonna go back where you belong- you ain't here by the Lord! You're a devil, in sheep's clothing!"

  
The flames grew over the hanging leaves, bursting into a rapid crawl over the trunk of the tree.

  
The whole tree was on fire.

  
But it wasn't burning.

  
Frank stared at the tree with his blue eyes, staring at it's undestructing destruction. The flames... they sat on the tree like unharming rain. They weren't burning it. There wasn't no stench of burning. No stench of a devil burning. No screaming from the flames as the air touched them.

  
That damned tree wasn't burning.  
Frank couldn't hold his disappointment none. He struggled to keep composure. His body shook with dibelief and fear, and sadness mixed with madness.  
This damn tree won't burn.


	2. Graves were black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which the graves were black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another excerpt because I'm being delayed by Christmas. I meant to have the first chapter out, but I have some major shit to do or I'm in trouble~

Frank woke up to Charlotte nudging him in his long johns, a candle in her hand and her beautiful blonde hair tucked up like Momma's 'ould be.

“What is it, Char?” he asked, looking up at her. He saw something move behind the gal and looked to see little Eric standing there with her. Then he sat up in bed. “Is it Daddy?”

Charlotte shook her head and chewed her lip some. She brought up her other hand and waved her brother up. “Ya gotta come look at this, it's- it's wrong.”

Frank kicked his blanket off and stood up, looking down at the kids. “... Alright, now where's it at?”

“It's outside,” Eric said and he and Charlotte brought Frank outside, way out passed the farm and crops, and the creek and tree. Out to-

“What's this? Why're y'all bringing me out here for?” Frank asked while looking at the graves of his brothers and sisters, and momma. It was still real dark outside, some time before five. He couldn't really see nothing much. Then Charlotte handed him over the melting candle.

“Look real good Frankie,” she said. Frank took the candle over and looked around, but ain't nothing to be seen with that poor'a light.

“It's lower, it's the graves,” Eric said. Then Frank did see it. He dipped down to his knees and looked at the graves, that looked s darker color than the resta the land, even in this nighttime. He brought the candle up to Douglas's gravestone and dropped his mouth open. He knit his eyebrows together and reschedule out to touch it.

It was black. The stone and the grave. Like someone had set fire to the damn things. It wasn't just Douglas, though. It was momma, and Allan, and Elaine and Anne, and the babes. It was all of em- the graves wereblack, burnt like Hell had touched em.

“This ain't right,” he said, looking at his fingers. No black char came off on em. Eric stepped closer to the man for closure and Charlotte let out a shaky breath.

“Whad'we do, Frank?” she asked soft and delicate. Frank didn't answer her. He didn't know how.


End file.
